


One Winter in Five

by allllllllthethings



Series: Pomegranate: One Winter in Five [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Consensual Kidnapping, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kidnapping, M/M, SO, She assigned herself demeter and i didn't argue, Yenn’s on the warpath, but nobody else knows he agreed to it, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allllllllthethings/pseuds/allllllllthethings
Summary: “We just say that I followed on your Path for twenty years, so you should follow on mine for another twenty. You’d of course have to do as I say, but it has the advantage, from my perspective, of letting me pamper the absolute shit out of you. I know you like throwing yourself into danger at every opportunity, but I think it would be a nice break for you! I’d keep you safe, I promise. No one and nothing would hurt you. I would treasure you. And it would only be temporary, so if you hate it you’ll know it won’t be forever.”-Continuation of True Names. Some sort of plot emerges.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Pomegranate: One Winter in Five [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974544
Comments: 25
Kudos: 153
Collections: Series





	1. Year One: 1263

**Author's Note:**

> As a reminder, Jaskier's true name is Jaskier, he's using Dandelion as an alias. Other people call him other things. Geralt's true name is Gwynnbleid, and Jaskier knows it but will only pull it out if he's mad. We're still working on Jask's understanding of consent. Eskel will beat it into him eventually.

ESKEL

Geralt doesn’t come home one winter. It happens to every witcher eventually - but we didn’t expect Geralt to go first. 

No, that’s wrong. He’s not - he’s not _gone_. He just got held up, had a contract take too long, missed the open pass. He’ll be home next time. It’s happened before - not to Geralt, not in a long time, but it has.

But the castle is quiet. It’s not that Geralt added so much noise, but he has presence. He’s neither heckling nor playing Gwent. He’s not taking far too long in the hot springs. He’s not kicking our asses on the training ground. It's... eerie.

Lambert worries, and expresses this by punching things and people. Mostly me, since I'm the only non-Vesemir target around. Vesemir is trying to convince himself and us that everything's fine. Doesn't stop Lambert and me from brewing and drinking an obscene amount of white gull.

GERALT

The trip into the Wilds is disorienting, to say the least. I don’t like portals at the best of times, and this one felt very long, and sort of sideways at times. I think Dandelion may have been carrying me at some point. But eventually, we get to a cute little cottage in an ominously autumnal wood. Dandelion waves me inside, saying, “In here, pretty wolf. You’ve the run of the house, love, but stay out of the gardens - some of the plants will try to eat you, and I’d rather you didn’t kill them.”

I ignore the endearments. ...The gardens surround the whole house. None of the plants look especially lively. 

I don’t know what I expected.

“Are you sure this is safe? I feel like accepting hospitality is not... a great idea for being able to leave eventually.”

“Oh don’t worry about it, my magic basically considers you a houseplant. Your sword isn’t indebted to you for all the sharpening and stuff you do to it, is it? So you won’t be indebted to me for food and shelter and all that.”

Not entirely certain how I feel about that. I hum in acknowledgement.

“Let me just get you a room!”

Does Dandelion mean _show_ me to my room? Does he normally give houseplants their own private space? Is this going to be a private space or will he come in without warning? Instead of asking any of those questions, I just hum again.

No he meant _get_ me a room. He stops at an empty stretch of hallway, that’s longer than it should be given the size of the house, and… does something. Then there’s a door. He ushers me through it.

I hate magic.

Inside, the new room is sparingly decorated, in pale blue and yellow with black accents. Not as garish as the rest of… Dandelion. The bed is very soft, and looks to only sleep one. There’s an elegant washbasin, and too many things on the dresser that probably smell floral.

“Do you like it? I can change it if you don’t like it - “

“It’s fine.” If I can sleep on the ground a week before Yule with a bedroll that’s been slashed up by graveirs I think I can manage a too-soft bed and some perfume.

Dandelion beams. “High praise from you indeed - two whole words!”

“Two and a half, really.”

“Quite right, darling. Would you like to stay here for a bit while I organize some things, or come with me?”

What is he organizing? Who is he in this plane? Has he been neglecting important things to follow me around the Continent? … “Hm?”

He laughs, “Oh, there’s some people who’ll need to be told I’ve returned, some Names I need to call, and the garden is in a horrid state so I should either start on that myself or make someone else do it.”

He’s important, then, probably. I take a moment to think, then, “I’ll come with you.”

Dandelion’s smile lights the room. I’m not quite sure if it’s literal or not.

CIRI

I am dreaming. The snow swirls around me, steaming but neither cold nor hot. It gestures me forward. I walk. In the background, someone calls for Fiona. I don't know who that is, or who's speaking - I walk forward. 

I am dreaming. I walk across a snow covered battlefield. Yellow flowers bloom in the desiccated skulls of elves and humans. Something in the forest, across the clearing, calls to me. 

I am dreaming. I reach the edge of the woods and pitch forward, falling face-first through a perfect ring of  
delicate  
yellow  
mushrooms. 

Someone calls for Fiona behind me.

I wake up. Maybe - the world is still soft around the edges. And it doesn't seem to be winter anymore. Trees grow around me, covered in yellow-red foliage. They're taller than any tree I've ever seen. The forest stretches on around me, no landmarks or distinctions. Even the mushroom ring I fell through is gone.

Was that real, then?

Those rings can be portals, can't they? I dig through my memory for anything related to the Fair Folk. I shouldn't accept food or give my name, I think. It's about knowledge and power. But there isn't anyone around who wants anything from me.

If I'm dreaming, it can't hurt; and if I'm awake the only people looking for me wish me harm. I won't make it easy for them.

I pick a direction and walk.


	2. Year 2: 1264

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a Gentleman all right, and not the kind Grandmother suffers (suffered) through parties with. Tall, with cheekbones at an unsettling angle, long hair that can’t decide how curly to be, and a sharpness in all the wrong places. He wears bright red silks with gold trim, that ripple like water when he moves. My skin prickles at the sight of him, and my feet itch to run. His face shines a cool white in the evening sun.
> 
> He also trips over his own two feet when he sees me, so the effect is rather ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday lads! as of 11/14/2020 I can legally drink. As additional evidence that I am actually a Hobbit, here is a gift for you all.

ESKEL

Now we’re not worried, we’re _scared_. Not that anyone is actually prepared to admit that. Nobody’s seen the White Wolf in a year and a half. There isn’t any confirmation of his death, but there’s not a rumor nor a whisper of his location. Kaer Morhen is very quiet this winter.

We can’t even tell the story of his death; no one knows it. It doesn’t feel right to grieve, when we’re not yet sure he’s dead.

It doesn’t feel right _not_ to grieve, when we’re not yet sure he’s alive.

CIRI

I found the house three days ago. It’s surrounded on all sides by a garden. No one has come or gone in all that time. There are windows, but they don’t seem to... work right.

Does the house belong to someone? The garden isn’t very well-kept.

I shouldn’t take food from the garden. If there’s a Gentleperson in the house they won’t like that.

I’m really hungry.

The blackberry bushes are thorny, but they calm down when I explain that I was lost and hungry. I offer to take a bit of the tangled grass out of their roots in exchange for a meal.

They are stern taskmasters, but their fruit tastes sweeter with sweat on my brow. No one comes out of the house to scold me.

I do some more wandering, keeping the house’s location in mind, but it still takes a long time to find my way back.

After that, the sunflowers want weeding, too. They explain what to do more nicely than the blackberries did, at least. I share the seeds they give me with the crows, and the crows teach me how to find the house more reliably.

It’s another four days (I think? Sometimes I look up and swear the sun is further east than it was an hour ago) of this when the house’s owner finally makes his appearance. He’s a Gentleman all right, and not the kind Grandmother suffers (suffered) through parties with. Tall, with cheekbones at an unsettling angle, long hair that can’t decide how curly to be, and a sharpness in all the wrong places. He wears bright red silks with gold trim, that ripple like water when he moves. My skin prickles at the sight of him, and my feet itch to run. His face shines a cool white in the evening sun.

He also trips over his own two feet when he sees me, so the effect is rather ruined.

“Are you - are you _eating my blackberries?_ ” he demands, pretending not to be blushing furiously.

It’s not like I can un-eat his fruit. I shrug, and pop another into my mouth. “They offered.”

“ _They_ \- okay. This is _fine._ This is - whatever.” He mutters to himself in that vein for a little while, fiddling with his hair and looking around the garden, before a low rumble from inside the house startles him again. He doesn’t lose his balance, at least, and I manage not to laugh at him. He calls back to the rumble, “Oh, it’s quite all right, just got a bit distracted, love. I’ll be back before sunrise,” and he closes the door behind him.

The Gentleman walks up to me. I don’t step back. Instead, I open my full hand towards him, saying, “Your blackberries are very tasty, sir.” He glares, and reaches over me to take one straight from the bush. The glare melts a little when he eats it. They really are very good.

He isn’t entirely mollified. “Would you like to explain, little girl, why you’re in my garden? Why you’re consorting with my blackberries, who” - this with an icy look in their direction - “ _apparently_ didn’t see fit to alert me to your presence?”

“I was lost, and I was hungry. I cleared out some of the weeds for them, and they’ve been feeding me.”

“... for how long?”

“About a week, I think?”

He sighs. “Walk with me. I’ll have to spend some more _time_ in the garden, I suppose.” Not sure my new friends will thank me for that. “What shall I call you?”

No attempt to trick me into giving my name. Interesting. “You can call me Fiona. You?”

A fanged grin, and, “I’ve been called Buttercup.” He doesn’t look like a Buttercup, but okay.

We walk. Somehow there are actual paths in the woods, when Buttercup walks them. We pass other Fair Folk; sitting in trees, or making strange devices out of floating lights, or practically swimming in fallen leaves. Some of them come up to Buttercup, talking in circles and making grandiose gestures. Buttercup is more casual than they are, and they shrink in the face of his jovial laughter.

He looks like Grandmother did with foreign diplomats who wanted things from her. Who expected her to be weak.

Between incomprehensible conversations with the locals, Buttercup lightly interrogates me. I answer politely. I try to avoid my identity, and he doesn’t press very hard there. He wants to know what my _plan_ was.

I snort out a laugh. I’m always less ladylike when I’ve been thinking of Grandmother. “When I went through the mushroom ring, I had thought it was a dream. I didn’t _plan_ for any of this.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Am I just picking up strays now?” before clapping me on the shoulder and inviting me to come back home with him.

Alarm bells go off in my head. I stammer a bit, managing to say, “Oh, I, couldn’t impose, really.”

“It’s no hardship, Fiona! But if you insist, hmmm…” He taps his chin theatrically. “Of course! The plants have repaid you for your most excellent gardening” - it was the haphazard work of a starving noble child, but okay - “but I have not. What say you to a bed for the night in exchange? And if it’s to your satisfaction, we can see how to arrange a continuation.”

That… seems safe enough. Which is probably an indication that it isn’t, really, but the thought of an actual bed is so tempting, an acquiescence leaves my mouth almost without my permission.

GERALT

Things are very weird here. It feels like a lot of time has passed, but it’s hard to tell since the weather never changes. I think I’m getting used to the routine a bit, though. I don’t really know how to deal with not having things to do, and Dandelion tries to keep me occupied, but he has other shit going on and anything I can do he can just do with magic. I’m pretty sure most people in anything close to my situation would basically be toys, and I still don’t quite know why Dandelion hasn’t made any attempt to do… anything with me. He’s brought me out in public a few times, and the other fae pay about as much attention to me as to a human’s new dog. Some of them even tried to _pet_ me, which - I didn’t let them. They acted like Dandelion should have been mad at me for that, but I think it just amused him.

Today he’s left me alone in the house. I manage to sleep for a while, but I’ve been doing too much of that - first Witcher to ever have that problem, most likely - so I’m up again not much past midnight. He still hasn’t let me in the garden, which pisses me off a bit. I know he doesn’t want me to have to deal with other fae without him, but what does Dandelion really expect to happen in his own backyard? I think I can interact with some fucking vegetables without pitching a battle. 

...

Apparently I cannot interact with some fucking vegetables without pitching a battle. I was just trying to untangle some vines from where they were strangling one of the fruit trees, and then they _grabbed me back_ I didn’t imagine it, they slithered down my arm and tried to yank it out of my shoulder, and I may have cast Igni on instinct, and I have _no idea_ how I’m going to explain this to Dandelion. Especially since all the other plants have apparently decided I’m the enemy now, and I don’t think I could even make it back in the door. Fuck. At least the fire’s gone out, and I’m holding a Quen to keep the smoldering vines and biting fruit away, but why do so many of Dandelion’s plants have teeth, I thought those were normal sunflowers, what the _fuck_ \- 

“WHAT THE FRESH HELL IS THIS!” I have never in my life been so relieved to hear the sound of another voice. The entire garden returns to stillness almost sheepishly. Dandelion didn’t need to yell that loud, plants even at their angriest are not the noisiest of combatants, but I turn to look and yeah, he’s pissed. He’s also not alone. There’s a little girl with him, who seems somehow familiar. The two of them walk up the path towards me, but Dandelion crosses over to the tree I’m standing under alone. He literally grabs me by the ear to whisper, “Get back into my house and _do not leave without permission, Gwynnbleidd._ ”

Which, I’d known I wasn’t supposed to leave, but I don’t know if he’d expected that order to magically stick without use of my Name, or if he’d just trusted me to listen without it. In any case, I now do as I’m told.

Dandelion introduces his new friend as Fiona, and me as Wolf. She calls him Buttercup. Neither of them explain how she came to be here, but she’s clearly clever enough to get Dandelion to agree to how she’ll pay him back before accepting breakfast from him. Apparently she’d been working in the garden for days and none of the plants had tried to eat her, so I really have no idea what that’s about. I doubt asking would win me any points with the resident magical bastard, so I keep my mouth shut.

Fiona asks a lot of questions, and she’s dressed (and shaped) like a starving orphan but has the stance and speech of a young noblewoman. She and Dandelion spend some time discussing different kinds of fancy fabrics, and I tune them out eventually. By the end of the meal, Fiona’s become our live-in gardener, at least for now. Dandelion seems quite taken with her. She’s nice enough, but I’d just almost gotten used to the dynamics in this house and now there’s a whole new person. And I can’t figure out why I feel like I recognize her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't super make sense that Jask doesn't want to give Ciri Geralt's regular name (or even his True Name, though maybe he can tell she's some kinda magic and doesn't wanna risk it) but I wanted them to have some time before figuring out that she's his kid. So Jaskier's being annoying. Also I wanted to finally end the chapter lol.


	3. 1265

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and his mystical Gentleman friend have some illuminating discussions with their small guest. Yennefer gives Eskel a shock.

YENNEFER

I’ve nearly figured it out. Last winter, the ridiculous djinn curse started acting up again. I couldn’t go _three days_ without thinking of Geralt, and it pissed me off. Clearly, just ignoring it isn’t going to work. So I did some research and I have a way to break it, I’m pretty sure. It requires some timing, astronomically, which is annoying; but besides that, I just have to get me and Geralt in the same space and then close an enchanted door between us. I’ve even got the door ready. Simple.

…

Not simple. Where is that ridiculous bastard? It’s not even Belleteyne, he can’t be too far south yet.

…

That’s a witcher! Wait, fuck, not my witcher. Well, Geralt’s not _mine_ either, he's just the fucker I’m trying to find. This one is brightly colored under his dirt, and badly scarred. I corner him at the base of the stairs.

“Good evening, witcher.”

“It _was_ , yes,” he says, raising one eyebrow.

Guess I don’t have to be polite either. “Oh believe me I’d rather not be talking to you either. You’re a Wolf, aren’t you? Where the hell is Geralt?”

He seemed pretty still before, but he goes rock solid for a moment before releasing a controlled breath, speaking quietly. “...We don’t know.”

What the everloving fuck does that mean?

“And what does that mean? Don’t you have those yearly reunions or whatever?”

He gets quieter, avoiding my eyes. “He hasn’t shown in _years._ You probably have a better shot at finding him than we do, we can’t spend all our time looking, and he’s probably -”

I cut him off. “No.”

“What?”

“He’s not dead; there’s stupid djinn magic going on and it would’ve ended if he died. Fuck my _entire life_ , why does that man always make it so damn complicated?”  
Since the witcher before me is apparently not going to be any more help, I portal out without another word.

…

Okay, I have some more information now. As far as I can tell, he was last seen in Dol Blathanna, the spring after the dragon hunt. Distressingly long ago, but again. Not dead. People there actually like him, some of them, which helps when questioning them. Not that I’d let anyone lie to me, but this way they’ve remembered him. I can’t find any evidence he ever left Aedirn, or anyone having seen him any later than that. If I can find the specific place where he disappeared, maybe…

Here it is! Apparently he took a contract on a wraith in Posada and never completed it. Great. Eventually a local mage dealt with the wraith, but the haunted house contained no dead witcher nor evidence of any fighting. Okay. Here’s the inn he was staying at, though no one remembers anything interesting happening with a witcher here. I don’t know which room was his, but I convince the innkeep (and the alderman) that the faster I get on with my shit the faster I leave and they let me run some diagnostics.

I don’t pick up anything in the village proper, but there’s something demanding my attention off in - 

Oh.

Fucking _Faerie._

CIRI

Wolf and Buttercup are interesting people. Buttercup, obviously, has his strange Gentry mannerisms. He sings a lot, in a strange fluttery language, with a gorgeous lute I know better than to ask to see closer. Wolf is very quiet. He’s also such a large man. He makes Buttercup look small, and Buttercup is not a small Gentleman. I think they’re lovers. Wolf has his own room, but he doesn’t spend a lot of time there and the times I’ve seen it it’s been absolutely spotless. 

It’s several weeks into my stay. Wolf is very nice, though he can’t go into the gardens with me. I’ve told the grapevines it was a misunderstanding, but they and the rowan have decided he’s the worst human possible and will stab on sight. Wolf makes strange faces when I talk to the plants; it’s weird how his face can move so little and say so much. Not that I can yet tell what it’s saying, but it’s saying _something_. But I’m on my way in, having removed a few volunteer rosebushes (who complained the whole time they were being dragged into the woods), and I overhear Buttercup calling to Wolf. Only he doesn’t call him Wolf, like he does when he knows I’m there.

He calls him Geralt.

I run into the sitting room, getting dirt all over the place. “Wait wait what? Geralt? Are you _Geralt of Rivia?_ ”

Buttercup looks shocked and appalled, though I’m not sure if it’s at the revelation or the mess. Wolf - Geralt - does his weird face thing. I’m still learning to interpret it. He looks at Buttercup, as though for permission, before nodding.

I can’t help it. I burst into tears. All this time, and the man I was searching for was right here. But what will happen now? Can he and his mystical Gentleman friend keep me safe from Nilfgaard? And once I start thinking about that, I’m worried about the real world again. All of it comes crashing back, as though the intervening time was a pleasant dream.

This whole breakdown, of course, only makes Geralt and Buttercup freak out, too. They’re talking in hushed and frantic tones, each trying to get the other to talk to me. As I’m just starting to get myself together again, Geralt crouches in front of me and takes my hands, saying, “I am Geralt of Rivia. Dandelion already knew that. I… Why do I know you?”

GERALT

I have never in my life understood anything. But I know this child, and I know she knows me somehow. So when I ask her that question, I am steeling myself for a very strange answer. This is a girl who happily chats with fey plants, ones that could and would kill me. They seem to talk back to her, or at least she acts like they do. And she interacts with Dandelion without fear, knowing what he is, expertly navigating the strange balance of business and intimacy, power and politeness, that fey magic is built on. I don’t know who she is, but I know she is a strange child, and I know she needs me.

She draws herself up, taking a breath, looking at Dandelion, considering her options. She says, “It is good to know you properly, Witcher. I am the Lion Cub of Cintra. My grandmother told me to find you.”

I suddenly understand everything. No, I understand very few things, but - this is _Cirilla_! My Child Surprise - how did she get here? What happened to her? I need to protect her, I need to know what she needs, how will I be what she needs from Dandelion’s house, how will I be what she needs when I am... what I am?

I shake my head sharply to clear it, and let her lean on me. I hold her close and feel her tears turn from confusion and despair into relief. I only hope I can be worth that.

...

After that, things change quite a bit. We explain most of the situation to my - my _daughter_ (which feels very strange even to _think_ , but she smiles when Dandelion refers to her as such and I cannot bring myself to correct him). She explains much of the situation on the Continent to us, too, and I had no idea so much would change so fast. Calanthe dead? Nilfgaard conquered the South? Guess it explains some of why she hasn’t been in any hurry to leave Lion’s lands. I suggest she stay even when I go to Kaer Morhen. It’s no place for a child. Anyway, I’ve no idea how I would explain her to the others. But Dandelion gets a strange look in his eye and says it would be better for her to be grounded in the real world every so often. Neither of us press. It’s also determined to be safe enough to call her Ciri, at least inside the house. Benefits of being a noble with about seventeen names, that she whispers to me in the dark once. Might very well make fun of Vesemir for making me shorten mine.

Ciri still works in the garden, even though Dandelion says she doesn’t necessarily need to. She’s a part of his household, through me, or something like that. I don’t pretend to understand it. It gives us time to be tangled up in each other. I can’t say I remember when that started but I’m not complaining; he has soft hands and softer lips and even when we’re just laying there and he’s reading or something, I can’t help but purr.

So everything is going… better than it has in basically forever. So of course one day one of Dandelion’s people comes pounding on his door to inform him that the small river Court just south of his wood has been suddenly and utterly destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh I wonder what happened to those poor Gentry....  
> Jask isn't being awful on purpose, but a. I don't know how to write a blossoming romance in a weird power dynamics situation (or, uh, at all) and b. a certain someone hasn't been paying much attention to how his power affects his witcher's brain. Pretty sure I will let Eskel punch him eventually.  
> Also my semester is over! Expect more regular updates. Weekly-ish?


	4. 1266

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel brings the good news home. The invader breaks Jaskier's things.

LAMBERT

Of course, it’s only once I’ve finished resigning myself to being one of the last three wolf witchers alive that Eskel comes in with news to the contrary. Apparently Geralt's terrifying sorceress ex-girlfriend knows for certain he’s alive, somehow. What the _fuck_.

And there’s no more news of the sorceress. She dropped that fucking bombshell and vanished. Unhelpful bitch, she should tell us when she knows something! (Of course, there's always a chance she’s vanished wherever Geralt went, never to be seen again.)

Anyway, time to absolutely destroy every training dummy we own and then spend the rest of the winter repairing them. I’m definitely mentally stable, why do you ask?

CIRI

Buttercup sends us both to Geralt’s room. Now that he’s paying attention, he can sense an intruder - whatever crashed through the river is coming our way _fast_. And once he says that, I realize I can feel it too. Something that doesn’t belong, just at the edge of my awareness. I’m not magically bound by Buttercup’s word, and I want to stay and watch this play out; but Geralt wants me to go with him. He’s basically my dad, I can’t just do something that would make him sad right after finding out who he is! That would be rude.

Being sent away like naughty children doesn’t prevent us from listening in, of course. That intruding presence pushes against the garden - bends and breaks the magic in the hedge - until it stands in the sitting room, metaphysically burning. I press my ear to the door.

A woman’s voice, wreathed in sharp violet rage, says, “Give me back my witcher."

Buttercup replies lightly, as though this woman is a polite guest. “I don't have your witcher, I only have _my_ witcher. To whom specifically are you referring?"

"Geralt, you asshole! Geralt of Rivia."

"I'm afraid I don’t know anyone of that Name." I can almost see his expression, the low placid smile he gets when he's angry and is waiting for the other person to trip themselves up.

"Bullshit, I know you’re the bard. Stupid move, to use a glamour that looks so much like your real self." Does that mean Buttercup's met this woman before? In a human disguise?

"You know well that I cannot lie. And I happen to quite like wearing my own face."

“I could burn this house and the whole wood with it if I wanted. Give me Geralt back.” I look back at Geralt. His hand trembles. Does he know this woman? What claim does she have to him? Would he want to go with her if he had the choice?

“I have no doubt you could, if you were well rested. But you’ve been quite busy, killing several hundred Fae and wrecking my wards. Perhaps you’d join me for some tea, recover your strength?”

YENNEFER

The worst part is that he’s right. I’m holding myself up by a thread of fury and I _know_ Geralt’s here, but if I can’t get through this bastard’s traps all my work is wasted. Obviously I’m not letting him _feed_ me. But if he’s willing to treat me like a guest and not an invader, maybe… 

“I believe I’m far too worked up, I couldn’t possibly partake. I might benefit from a steadying walk, if you’d like to... show me around?”

He brightens, which definitely means I fucked up. “Of course, miss; I could, if you’d like, show you around my garden. If you’d follow me?” Ah. He’s taking me outside, toward the venomous plants and away from wherever he’s keeping Geralt. Great.

I follow him anyway. He’s quite animated, encouraging me to smell and touch and, of course, taste. Triss would have a field day here, he’s got really weird cultivars; I merely smile and nod and politely decline several kinds of apples and a plum. Eventually, he offers me a seat on a little garden bench near the well.

“I’m not hurting him, you know,” he begins, as though that means anything when he’s _stolen someone away_ , when Geralt’s brothers are in _mourning_ , when I _miss the stupid Wolf_ \- 

“Excuse my disbelief.”

He raises one perfect eyebrow. “I actually like him, though. And it’s not long before I’m putting him back.”

That’s news. “You’re putting him back? When? Why?”

That gets an elaborate eye roll and “At the beginning of the fifth winter, as he and I agreed. No earlier.” Which is… a remarkably short sentence. Maybe he actually does like Geralt. Huh.

“And you couldn’t have _told_ anyone this?”

“He never asked me to. How would I have known who to tell?”

I guess that’s fair. Ugh. I stretch my fingers, flexing my Chaos; I still don’t have the power to fight a lord of a Court this size in his own garden. I won’t until I eat and sleep, which I sure as fuck won’t do until I’m back in my own territory. I give the horrible little man some side-eye, and say, “I suppose you wouldn’t have. I do know who to tell, however, and I think I will. Good day, sir.”

I stand and turn to go. He catches my arm before I do, though, getting a dark gleam in his eye. “Remember this, sorceress: my garden knows you now, and you are _not_ welcome. It will not be so easy to break my walls next time.” I nod my understanding, and leave for Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm going to update next week" "I'm going to update later today" "I'm going to do the thing" _I lie_ to you and myself. I'm going to update whenever the fuck the hell brain decides.


End file.
